


Over The Wall

by PleasantlyWeird



Category: Tom Hardy - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleasantlyWeird/pseuds/PleasantlyWeird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little challenge that stemmed from a particular picture of Tom Hardy. Comments were made and this was born in just a couple hours time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Let me clarify that I do not think Tom Hardy is capable of or inclined to do the things contained herein. It's just a silly little twisted fic accompanied by the pic that inspired it. Don't be hatin'...

It’s not surprising that you find yourself alone and wandering through random backyards. You’re in the outskirts of London, drunk off your ass, separated from your friends and frankly freezing your tits off.

It’s your first time out of your own country and things couldn’t be more foreign. The language you speak is the same but the way you speak it sure as fuck isn’t. Your accent is apparently as perplexing to the locals as theirs is to you. No one seemed to be concerned enough with helping you find your way back to the hotel so now you’re here, walking aimlessly through gardens and occasionally climbing over stone walls and fences in your skirt. You’re carrying your heels since they’d only served to slow you down.

The alcohol you’d consumed hadn’t been great in quantity but had fucked you up rather quickly. One moment you were attempting to chat up some good looking fella with a thick English accent and a blue ribbon ass, then you’d found yourself in a cab with him headed God knows where. He’d been pawing at your breasts and you’d realized that things had gone much further than you’d wanted them to. So you’d yelled for the cab to stop and you’d left Mr. Blue Ribbon ass alone in there with his boner and a fare to pay. You’d not even bothered to acknowledge him as he’d screamed “Cunt” at you out the window. THAT word you’d understood loud and clear.

And here you are, still pretty buzzed, alone, hosiery torn, feet bloodied… and fucking lost. You’re standing, facing another wall. You’ve no choice but to climb it, going back through the last yard is not an option since you’d set the security lamps off and had been yelled at. You hadn’t understood much except “wanker” and “gun”. Neither of those words have you the warm and fuzzies. So onward… over this bastard and hopefully to a street where you can hail a boner-less cab.

Twenty minutes and the last shred of dignity you have and you’re over that bastard of a fence. Splinters fill your toes and calves but by god you scaled the mother fucker. You’re in an immense garden, complete with statues, fountains; hell, there’s a huge pool all the way on the other side of the yard. You whistle lowly as you scan the scenery; someone with a lot of money lives here. Not that the other yards you’d stumbled through had been shabby, but they hadn’t been like this. “Posh,” you think to yourself and giggle.

Weaving a crooked path through the thick grass, avoiding all sorts of glass globes on stands, you venture as quietly as a drunken American fool can through the place and walk around the pool, only to come to an even higher stone wall.

“FUCK!” You scream out and throw your heels in a rage.

“Oi, what you doing in my yard?” The voice is deep, oddly familiar, you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you can’t make yourself turn to look…

“I asked you a question, what you doing here?”

The tears come, you’re so fucked. You just fall onto your ass. Either you’re so drunk that it doesn’t hurt or the grass is just that thick here next to the wall.

You hear footsteps approach and your will to flee leaves you; you’re going to end up in jail or whatever the English equivalent of a jail is.

“Now love, there’s no need for tears… calm down.”

The voice is bizarrely familiar and you look up at the man who is offering you a hand to stand up. The pinky is curled while the rest of the fingers are straight. Up further past the hand you see another familiar sight.

“Hey,” you slur, “I have that same fucking tee shirt. And that overpriced hoodie… Blag…”

The man laughs again, the sound raucous and a little lusty. “Well, then I thank you very much.”

You finally get a look at his face and gasp. “Holy shit, you’re…”

“Yeah. It’s me. Now that we have that established, let’s get you up. Oh dear, you’re bleeding.”

You look down and realize that your legs are shredded from climbing over his fence on the other side of the yard. You’re not one for blood so you look away quickly, right back into those eyes of his that you’ve stared at a million times in pictures and in movies. His gaze is dark, dangerous looking. Maybe it’s the dim lighting, maybe it’s the fact that you’re trespassing… oh shit. He probably thinks you’re a stalker, probably thinks you climbed his fence actually looking for him like some crazed fangirl.

“Oh fuck, I swear I didn’t do this shit on purpose… I mean, I’m sure you have crazy bitches crawling over your fence all the time trying to sneak on you but I swear it’s not like that. There was a guy in a cab, he grabbed my lady business and called me a cunt and I can’t find my friends and so I’m walking through all these backyards and then a guy had a gun and I’m not a wanker and…” And suddenly you fall face first back into the grass. Just before the blessed blackness of passing out overtakes your consciousness you hear him chuckle. The sound of it is ominous, almost mean…

Flashes of consciousness… he’s looking up at you as he tears the remnants of your pantyhose off of you, the expression dark and ominous. It’s chilly… He’s looking down at you now, you see his crooked grin, almost playful but something chilling about it… you can hear movement overhead… His breathing ragged in your ear as he says your name and then you feel something prick your arm, you’re doing your best to swim out of the haze but the desire to sleep again is too strong…

There is a pinpoint of light and you’re swimming towards it, kicking your feet and flailing your arms as hard as you can. Consciousness comes back slowly and you try to wipe your eyes but find that you can’t move your arms freely. Looking around you realize that your hands are tied above your head to some sort of iron bar that’s been riveted into the concrete wall. The air here is chilly and you come to realize slowly that it’s because you don’t have a shred of clothes on. The icy chill of dread that spreads through your veins doesn’t help matters.

You shake your head, trying to clear the cobwebs and to remember how you got here. There had been some strange dream or hallucination about seeing the guy who played Bane…

“Well hello petal, awake finally?” The voice makes you jump and whimper. The sound is muffled from the gag he’s secured on you. “We don’t have much time to play.”

You shake your head from side to side furiously and try to scream but it’s no use. He keeps coming towards you. He’s dressed in a yellow plastic suit of some sort and he has on safety glasses. He’s got something behind his back and you only catch a glimpse of it before he hides it again.

“Seriously love, if you’ve got to become a statistic isn’t it better to become one at the hand of someone like me instead of some tit-groping loon in a Hackney?”

Your eyes fill with tears; you can’t fully comprehend what he’s telling you whether it’s from fear or the drugs he’d surely injected you with. He’s pacing at the end of the plastic covered platform he’s secured you to.

“I’ve planned this for quite some time. Lots of birds come over that wall but they’re all looking for me, which means they told someone else where they’d planned to go; most time they’re in pairs. But not you, you happened along by accident and that makes you perfect.” He reaches a gloved hand out and strokes your calf affectionately. “I mean, after a certain point nothing is exciting anymore. You can only make so much money, buy so many things, support so many charities before everything is old. It gets to a point where the thrill leaves you and then, then what can you do?”

The truth starts to knock at your brain… surely he doesn’t mean what you think he does.

You hear a door open somewhere in the distance and a feminine voice calls out.

“Tom? Babe, you down there?”

You watch as a cloud crosses his expression and he glares in the direction the voice is coming from.

“Tom?” The voice calls out again.

“Yes, yes I’m down here Charlie-monkey. I’ll be up in a tic!”

“For heaven’s sake, be quick about it! Leo will be here any minute and I need help with these shrimp balls!”

“Yes love, I won’t be long, I promise,” he calls back, his sing song voice belying the murderous look on his face. The sound of the door closing signals something bad for you and all you can do is scream into the gag.

“I’ve got loads of time to listen to her go on about shrimp balls, yeah?” He pulls the hood of the plastic yellow suit over his head and straightens the safety glasses. “Let’s get this business sorted while we can.”

He smiles that famous smile at you, the one that shows his wonky tooth, the same one that makes women everywhere squirm and wet their panties. For one split second you get lost in that smile.

“Thank you,” he whispers lowly as he swings heavily at you with the axe he’d kept hidden behind his back.

 

 


End file.
